


Red Light Special

by frankie_31



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, ace!Quentin, photographer!quentin, sex worker! Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_31/pseuds/frankie_31
Summary: Eliot’s services are purchased for the night. His client doesn’t want to touch him, just enjoy his presence.





	Red Light Special

There’s a biting wind tonight. Every bared inch of Eliot’s skin feels chafed, stings. 

 

He’s in a pair of black jeans two sizes too small, a black wife beater, a gauzy black kimono, ass-kicker boots with steel toes. All the dark colors make his skin glow in the dark, he’s luminous. 

 

I’m an angler fish, he thinks with mild hysteria. Come get it. 

 

He gets a few bites (he smiles as he stretches his analogy through the night) but no big spenders. Rents due soon, so he tries to shine a little brighter. He leans on a junker car like he’s shooting for  _ Glamour,  _ chest pushed out and chin up. 

 

Eventually, a car rolls up. It’s dark in the night, blue or black, maybe. The windows are tinted, the car is polished to mirror shine and Eliot tries not to look at himself as he strolls up to the car. 

 

The window rolls down and a woman looks out at him from the driver’s side. 

 

“Hey, sugar,” he says and decides if he can handle touching a woman’s body tonight. “What can I do for you?”

 

She’s blonde, pale, with flinty blue eyes. She looks him over clinically and there’s a tiny curl to her upper lift. 

 

“Get in.”

 

“No can do,” he smiles. “Just isn’t safe for little old me.” 

 

She nods, the curl fades a little and she reaches into a black purse by her side. It’s Balenciaga, which softens his surprise when she pulls out five hundred dollar bills. 

 

“Please, get in,” she says with a little more respect and he weighs his life against five hundred dollars. 

 

“Where would we be going?”

 

She pulls out five more bills and lays them on the seat beside her. He swallows and bounces in his boots a little, but doesn’t give in. He could finally get Margo’s cavity filled. But he thinks he could also get her a beater car so she doesn’t have to take the filthy subway if he holds out a little longer. 

 

“You could drive,” she offers, her fingers dipping into her purse. 

 

“I could,” Eliot agrees and leans into the window more. “What am I doing when I arrive there that’s worth $1000 just to get me in the car?”

 

He’s proven something to her with this, she pulls out a short stack of bills and collects the ones from the seat. She exits the running car, Eliot stands and regards her as she nears him. She passes him the bills, and sits in the passenger seat. 

 

He’s got at least three grand in his hands, there’s definitely more waiting for him at the end of whatever this is.

 

She doesn’t look at him again, but he can tell she’s waiting. 

 

“Well,” he says. “I’m not about to make you get out of the car again.”

 

He thinks he sees her smile but he doesn’t dwell. It’s a nice car. He’s not, like, a car person. 

 

But he can tell.

 

The GPS is already set to a hotel nearby, a nice one. They drive in silence and he looks over at her as they near the hotel. 

 

“What do you like?” He asks and she scoffs. 

 

“You aren’t for me,” she says and he blanches a little. He could take her in a fight. He feels a little less calm at the idea of a faceless person. 

 

“Who am I for?”

 

“My boss. He doesn’t want to hurt you,” she says and flicks a glance at him. “He’ll want to photograph you. Is that okay?”

 

“Yes,” he says. “Doing what?”

 

“I don’t know. The pictures are private,” she says and he quirks a brow. 

 

“Okay,” he says and they pull up to valet. She meet Eliot at the nose of the car and hands him an envelope and a room key. The key says PH.

 

“Have a good night,” she says crisply and waves off the valet boy. 

 

He barely notices the lobby, finds an elevator as quickly as possible. The penthouse button is centered at the top and he has to put a key in a lock beside it to press it.

 

I’m an angler fish, he thinks and glosses over his nerves with false bravado. 

 

The elevator ride stretches forever and when the doors open onto a rich, red hallway he walks purposefully out. 

 

At the end of the hallway, two double doors gleam at him against the crimson. He considers knocking, but the envelope in his pocket bolsters his nerves. 

 

He opens them, steps through, ready for the worst. 

 

There’s no scary man behind this door. Just a pale, plain-faced man bent over a camera in a tripod. He turns sleepily to Eliot and gives him a small, awkward wave. 

 

“Did Alice give you all the money?” He asks and Eliot nods, patting his pocket. “Okay, good.”

 

“I could’ve lied,” Eliot says and the man shrugs. 

 

“I would’ve believed you,” the man says and points to a rack of clothing. “Pick something you like.”

 

Eliot raises an eyebrow but obediently crosses to the clothing. The doors latch behind him and he steadfastly ignores it. There’s a very wide array of clothing options. He holds out a feathery capelet from the rack, freezing when the camera clicks behind him. 

 

“Don’t think about the camera,” the man says. “Please, keep looking.”

 

Eliot goes back to looking, conscious of the lense on him. He decides against the feather and his finger glide over latex. He considers it and the camera clicks again. 

 

“You’d look great in that,” the man says. “You’ve got such long legs.”

 

Eliot mulishly moves past the latex, wondering all the while why he’s being so stubborn. “Do you want me to wear it?”

 

“I want you to pick what you like,” he says and he looks over the camera at Eliot. “What’s your name?”

 

“Aaron,” Eliot says and the camera clicks. 

 

“Your real name,” the man corrects and Eliot laughs. 

 

“That is my real name.”

 

“Lie,” he says. “I’m Quentin. What’s your real name?”

 

Eliot pauses, looks over his shoulder at Quentin and tells him. 

 

The camera goes off and the man makes a little noise. “Did you grow up here?”

 

“No,” Eliot says and picks a lacy, Victorian shirt out. “I’m from a little town you’ve never heard of.”

 

“I might’ve,” Quentin says. “Try me?”

 

Eliot does and, no, Quentin’s never heard of it. Eliot picks out a brocade vest with golden buttons and maroon corduroys. He disregards the selection of underwear at the end.

 

“Do I put them on now?”

 

“Yes,” Quentin says breathily. “Please.”

 

Eliot shrugs his kimono so it slides to his elbows, trails his fingers over the bare skin he reveals. He looks at Quentin through his lashes and finds a frown. 

 

“N-not like that,” he says. “Just normally. How you would at home.”

 

“You got it,” Eliot says and bends to unlace his boots. He makes quick work of them, then his clothes. He’s nude then, folding his pants and placing them on a pile by his boots. He stands then, looks at Quentin over the camera. “I get dressed now?”

 

“You get dressed now,” Quentin says over the clicks of the camera. “Please.”

 

He pulls the the corduroys over his feet, buttons them efficiently. The shirt pulls on also, he examines the frills at the neck and buttons the best up under them. There’s a mirror beside the rack and he fluffs the frills over the breast of the vest. 

 

“Ta-da,” he says softly and spins to look at Quentin. The camera goes off and Eliot wiggles his bare toes. “Do I need shoes?”

 

“No,” Quentin says and gestures to a stool in front of a white screen. “There, please.”

 

Eliot crosses to the stool and tries not to feel self-conscious. 

 

“So, is this the sexual aspect for you?” Eliot asks and the man pauses for a long moment. 

 

“I...suppose,” he says. “I don’t really have a sexual aspect. I just like looking. You’re very dynamic.”

 

“I’m dynamic,” Eliot parrots loftily.

 

“You are,” Quentin agrees. “Very much so.”

 

“How does Alice pick someone to bring to you?”

 

“Oh,” Quentin mumbles and his cheeks pinken. “Uh...We agree beforehand.”

 

“Did she send you a picture?”

 

“No. Ah...I—We had seen you around.”

 

“You cased my block,” Eliot says, pulling his foot up into the rung of the stool and lacing his fingers around his knee. “How long?”

 

“A few days,” Quentin responds after a moment. He’s not blushing anymore but he’s stopped taking pictures. “Do you want to stop?”

 

Eliot considers the question, mostly to see Quentin squirm, and shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t deprive you of my dynamicactivity.”

 

Quentin doesn’t respond but a small smile tugs the corner of his mouth. 

 

He asks Eliot questions about his childhood, his hometown, his favorite place to eat. The questions spiral for hours, Eliot’s starting to flag on the stool and his ass is completely numb. 

 

“Will you stay the night?” Quentin asks, resting his chin on the the camera. “I’ll pay extra. I am just really enjoying your company. 

 

“I’d have to call my roommate,” Eliot says slowly. 

 

Quentin nods and excuses himself to the restroom. Eliot retrieved his phone from his discarded pants and calls Margo.

 

“Hey, baby,” she says, her voice thick with sleep. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Bambi,” he says. “I’m going to be out all night.”

 

“It’s not like I need a play-by-play,” she says but he knows she’d be mad if he hadn’t called. “You’d better be back before I leave for class. I got us bisquick with my tips tonight. I’m making pancakes.”

 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he answers. “Okay, I gotta go, honey. See you tomorrow.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Quentin comes out with just boxer-briefs on and a fluffy robe. He hesitated as he nears Eliot and Eliot regards him carefully. 

 

“I don’t have pajamas for you,” Quentin says and Eliot arcs a brow. 

 

“That’s alright,” he says and begins unbuttoning his shirt. 

 

“Wait,” Quentin says and touches him for the first time. He lays his fingers on Eliot’s wrist and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Can you—in front of the camera. Please?”

 

“Of course,” Eliot says and even though he’s not performing he puts a little heat in his walk. He can hear Quentin shuffling behind him and he turns sharply to look at him. He unbuttons the vest without ceremony, pulls the shirt off, pushes the pants down his hips. Quentin draws in a breath when he’s completely nude and Eliot can’t help but pose a little. 

 

He looks at Quentin through his lashes and enjoys the flush on his throat and chest. “Do you want me to take off my makeup?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Quentin says and makes a quick path to the bathroom. The water runs for a moment and Quentin comes back with a glass bowl of steaming water and a washcloth. 

 

Eliot lets him take a few close ups of his eyeliner and contouring, then cleans his face. He doesn’t feel exposed. He feels like he’s finally in control of the situation. 

 

“Your hair,” Quentin breathes and Eliot watches him as he reaches out to brush his fingers over the pomade-coated hair. 

 

“I could shower,” Eliot says, his voice low due to Quentin’s closeness. 

 

“Yeah,” Quentin says and Eliot watches his Adam’s apple bib as he swallows. “I have to find my micro-fiber cloth. Give me a moment.”

 

He does and Quentin finds it and he makes Eliot stand in the dry shower so he can pick where to place his camera. He settles on a spot eventually and then Eliot is in an open shower with Quentin taking pictures and periodically wiping the lens of his camera. 

 

The thought crosses Eliot’s mind the put a towel down in front of the shower but then he remembers that Quentin’s paying ungodly amounts of money not to care about that. There’s a collection of bottles in the tub that are obviously Quentin’s and not the hotels. There is a small army of tiny bottles bearing the hotel’s logo and Eliot gestures towards them. 

 

“No,” Quentin says. “Use mine.”

 

Eliot does, finding the shampoo and putting some in his palm. He feels open, too visible as he soaps up his hair. Raising his arms bares his barrel-chest, his hip bones, his genitals. He arches a little, reveling in the attention and he finds that he’s getting hard. 

 

He ignores his erection and rinses his hair. He smoothes conditioner into his hair, drawing his fingers through his curls so that they can form easier. Quentin is perched on the counter, clicking happily away behind the camera. 

 

The body soap is lush, scented like coconut and lime. Eliot drizzles it on his body, staring into the camera lense. 

 

Quentin makes a content noise and tucks his hair behind his ear. “You can touch yourself.”

 

“I can?” Eliot asks with a laugh in his voice. He smoothes the soap over his body, starting at his neck and making his way down. He avoids his groin with intention, tracing his fingers over his stomach and hips, then his knees and ankles. He turns his back to Quentin and soaps what he can reach of his back. He finally lets his hand wrap around his cock and he makes a low noise at his first stroke. 

 

Quentin is silent aside from the shutter sound for a while, letting Eliot enjoy himself. 

 

“Will you turn around?”

 

Eliot does and the camera goes off again. He’s high on this moment, lost in sensation and the weight of Quentin’s attention. He gets off on himself in the fogged mirror behind Quentin, he gets off on the camera clicking, he gets off on Quentin’s toes curling and his breath speeding up. 

 

He cums with a quiet groan, curling over himself as he finishes on the floor of the tub. The water feels too hot on his over sensitive skin and he shuts it off as soon as he can rinse the soap off himself. Quentin wordlessly hands him a towel and takes photos of him drying off. 

 

They don’t speak much more. Once Eliot’s towel dried his body and hair, they climb into the bed. Eliot stretches out luxuriously on the bed. It’s unbelievably soft and the thread count of the linens is so high it feels like he’s covering up with heavy air. 

 

“I’m a snuggler,” he warns Quentin as he crawls into the bed. Quentin pauses and a small smile creeps onto his face. 

 

“I don’t mind,” he says and then proceeds to lay out like a plank. He’s still got a silly smile on his face and his eyes are closed. Eliot huffs a laugh and rolls to drag an arm over Quentin’s belly. Quentin relaxes imperceptibly at first, then completely all at once. He turns into Eliot, tucking his head under Eliot’s chin and tucking his arms against his chest. “Good night.”

 

“Good night, Quentin,” Eliot says and he falls asleep before he knows it. 

 

***

 

He awakens to an empty bed. Quentin is drinking from a mug by the window, he turns when he hears Eliot rustle the sheets.

 

“Hi,” he says softly and Eliot smiles at him.

 

“Good morning,” he says, sleep softening his voice. 

 

“Did you sleep okay? When do you need to get back to your home? Alice can drive you,” Quentin says and gestures to where Alice is sitting at the table drinking out of a tiny espresso cup. 

 

“Which question should I answer first?” He says and rubs sleep from his eyes. “I slept great. I should leave soon.”

 

“I’m ready when you are,” Alice says, standing and Eliot takes the cue. He gets dressed in his clothes from last night and Quentin steps before him with a brown paper package. 

 

“Thank you,” Quentin says with a sudden and fierce reverence. “For last night.”

 

“Anytime,” Eliot says, meaning it. 

 

Quentin beams at him and hands him the package, it feels soft and Eliot assumes it’s the clothing he tried on last night. 

 

Alice tilts her head at the door and Eliot hugs Quentin before he goes, balancing the the package in one hand. He presses a little kiss to his head and Quentin smiles up at him after. 

 

“Goodbye, Eliot. I enjoyed our time,” Quentin says and Eliot follows Alice out the door.

 

She asks if he wants to go back to the place she picked him up or his home and he hesitates briefly before giving her his address. Her face doesn’t change when they pull up on his run-down apartment, she just pulls out an envelope. 

 

“The rest of your fee,” she says. “Have a good day.”

 

He takes the envelope, thanks her and gets out. 

 

She’s gone by the time he hits the door and he whistles a little as he makes his way to the elevator. Margo smiles at him when he comes through the door and the smell of pancakes fills their little apartment. 

 

“Hey, Bambi,” he says, unable to stamp down his grin. “I got you something.”

 

“Presents?” She asks happily and turns from stove to face him. He first dumps the contents of the envelope on the table. Forty hundred dollar bills flutter on to the table and she gapes at him. “Did you rob a fucking ATM?”

 

He smiles and pulls the other envelope from his pocket and pours that out. 

 

“What the shit, Eliot?” She asks but she’s wrapping him in a hug. “What senator did you blow last night?”

 

“No senator. Just some photographer,” he squeezes her. 

 

“Oh, El,” she says and pulls back. Her eyes are a little glossy and she rubs her thumbs over his cheekbones. “This is amazing.”

 

He hugs her again and she cries a little once he can’t see her face. 

 

He looks up Quentin later, he’s totally Google-able. He has a verified Twitter, he was at the MTV movie awards last week, he’s got a clothing line. 

 

Eliot smiles to himself a little when he follows Quentin on Twitter, wondering if the man will notice. 

 

Quentin responds by following him on Twitter and Instagram and liking at least two hundred of Eliot’s posts. 


End file.
